


Makes the World Go Round

by JeannetteRankin



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (Really), (that one was hard!), Casual Sex, F/M, Married Sex, Oral Sex, Pegging, Shower Sex, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism, porn in the conditional tense, porn in the future tense, porn in the past tense, porn in the present tense, referenced gun play, sexual fantasies, there's a theme here and the theme is lots of porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 17:10:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6965827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeannetteRankin/pseuds/JeannetteRankin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve/Peggy porn. Porn, porn, porn. Written originally for <a href="http://capkink.livejournal.com/1973.html?thread=2436021#t2436021">this kink meme prompt</a>: <i>Give me five fantasies Steve had about making love to Peggy, and one that Peggy had about him.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Makes the World Go Round

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted in 2012 (four years ago??? wow) on my livejournal, so if you followed me there, you might recognize it. Some parts have been edited and changed around.

ONE

He never imagines the ceremony itself--that feels too presumptuous, in an odd way. He starts with the moment they arrive together, laughing, at the door of the hotel room where they're staying for their honeymoon.

He offers to carry her across the threshold. She laughs and says, “you're only supposed to do that at your house, Steve, not an hotel. Besides, I'm not sure you'd manage it.” She glances down at him. He's always felt self-conscious around girls who are taller than him, but with Peggy, he doesn't mind, even when she wears heels.

He takes her hands in both of his and looks her in the eyes. “I'd manage,” he tells her.

She looks at him fondly, giving him that smile that he loves--the fantasy is specific on this point--the little quirked smile he saw directed at him for the first time the day he got the Camp Lehigh flag and climbed in the back of her jeep. It's the smile that says she's impressed in spite of herself. “I believe you would,” she tells him, and then and kisses him.

“Inside,” he breaks off the kiss to tell her. “Before we get arrested for indecent acts in the hallway.”

She agrees and soon they're tumbling onto the bed together. She undoes his tie, he insists on being the one to remove her dress, sliding his hands reverently along her skin. He undresses her until she's lying, naked and smooth and lovely on the sheets, just for him.

She's so beautiful, and he can't help feeling like he might mess this up. He's nervous, even though they've talked about this before, and agreed to wait until after the wedding. She'd said that she doesn't mind that he doesn't have much experience. Now, she looks up at him from where she's lying, eyes heavy-lidded with anticipation.

“Don't keep me waiting, soldier,” she says.

“No, ma'am,” he agrees, stripping off his shirt.

They make love, and it's wonderful, better than anything he'd imagined. When he hesitates, she talks him through it, calming his nerves and letting him see her own uncertainty and anticipation. When he finally eases inside her body, they fit together like they were made for each other. She grasps at him and urges him to go faster; she murmurs his name and that she loves him.

After, they lie together and talk about the future. He can't imagine wanting anything more. His heart feels so full he almost can't bear it. And he'll get to do this again tomorrow, and every day after for the rest of their lives.

  


TWO

“You lucked out there, pal,” Bucky remarked once Peggy was safely out of ear shot.

“Bucky,” Steve said warningly.

“What? I'm just sayin', I'd like to _serve under_ an officer like that.” Bucky laughed at his own joke, and if there was a brittle edge to it, Steve pretended not to notice. A lot of the guys they'd pulled out of that HYDRA hell hole were the same way--trying a little too hard, acting tough and rubbing everyone the wrong way. He couldn't find the words to talk to Bucky about it. Instead, they both pretended nothing was wrong.

“Shut up,” Steve told him, as casually as he could. “It's not like that.”

“But you wish it were,” Bucky said, knowingly. “I'd be takin' extra long showers all the time if I spent all day looking at that.”

They'd always talked about girls between them, but Bucky had usually saved the dirty talk for his other friends, they guys from work. It didn't help Steve's irritation that he had in fact been spending a fair amount of time in the shower thinking about Peggy lately. “Shut up about it, would you? You've got no idea what you're talking about, as usual.”

“A lady who looks like that?” Bucky nodded in direction of the door Peggy had walked out of a minute ago. “C'mon, you gotta at least think about it. Fess up.” Steve loved Bucky, he really did. But sometimes he wished he knew when to let shit go.

Of course, if he couldn't shut down Bucky's dirty mind, there was always fighting fire with fire. “Well ...” Steve said leadingly, pretending to give in.

“Yeah?” Bucky perked up and fixed his eyes on Steve.

“Sometimes, I think about her coming into my tent one night...” Steve let his voice get lower.

“Yeah?”

“And she says 'Rogers, I've seen the way you've been looking at me.'”

“Ha!”

“So she takes off her jacket...”

“And?” He leaned in closer to Steve, eagerly.

“She pulls out her pistol and points it straight at me.”

“Uh,” Bucky's expression crumpled a bit.

“She tells me to take off all my clothes or else she'll shoot me. So I do. And then she orders me to take off _her_ clothes, and we, y'know. And she's holding the gun on me the whole time. She says if I don't make sure she enjoys it, I'm a dead man. Then afterwards she lies down next to me, all happy, and tells me that she'll be back tomorrow night, with a shotgun next time.” Steve sighed contentedly and took a long drink of his beer.

Bucky stared at him. “ _That's_ your fantasy?”

“That's not even the best part.” Bucky looked at him askance, half horrified, half fascinated. “Then she says, 'now go get Barnes, it's his turn.'” Steve managed to say it with a totally straight face.

Bucky gawked at him for a full two seconds before cracking up laughing. He howled with mirth so hard he could barely breathe, finally pausing long enough to gasp out “you had me going there for a minute, you asshole.” He punched Steve in the arm, which didn't have any effect any more, but Steve rubbed at the spot and grinned at him all the same.

  


THREE

He's going to find an excuse to show up at the door to Peggy's rooms one night. It won't matter what--she'll see through his pretext anyway. But she'll invite him in; she's too well-bred not to.

It will all be going swell, she'll even have smiled at him, when there'll be the sudden sound of footsteps on the landing, followed by a knock at the door.

Peggy will grab him abruptly by the arm and, dragging him across the room, shove him into the coat closet. “Quick, in here!” she'll say urgently. Steve will understand--after all, for an unmarried woman to have a man in her rooms late at night would be shocking to some people, even in wartime, and could get them both in trouble with the colonel.

Peggy will leave him in the closet, shutting him in, but not noticing when the latch quite doesn't take. He'll have a view out through the cracked door.

Steve will press as close as he can to the bright opening, and he'll see Peggy open the apartment door and hear her say, “what are you doing here?” Steve won't be able to see who's on the other side, but he'll sure be able to recognize the voice that responds.

“I didn't know I needed a particular reason.” Howard Stark will sound amused and condescending, like he usually does. Steve will be surprised that Howard would show up uninvited to Peggy's apartment. But the real shock will come in her reply.

“Oh alright, come in, then.” Howard will step inside, letting the door shut behind him. With one hand he'll take off his ridiculously expensive hat, and with the other, he'll catch Peggy around the waist and pull her in for a kiss.

Now, Steve likes Howard, always has, in spite of his brashness, and the way he always seems to be laughing at everyone less smart than he is (that is, everyone). Howard is passionate, and brilliant, and as dedicated to the war effort as anyone, and he's really a good guy once you get to know him.

But the moment Steve will see him kiss Peggy, a real deep kiss with tongues and everything, any respect or admiration will go straight out the window. The only thing keeping him from bursting out and slugging the man will be knowledge of how Peggy would probably react. She wouldn't be impressed; she definitely wouldn't suddenly fall into his arms. At best she'd be annoyed, at worst she'd laugh at him and then kick him out so that she can go on kissing Howard in private. Either way, he won't want to face the thought of her disappointed look, so he'll stay where he is.

For a moment, he'll hope that she'll take care of it for him and punch Howard herself. But instead, she's going to put one arm around his shoulders and kiss him back.

Steve will tell himself that he shouldn't watch, but he won't be able to tear his eyes away. They'll look good together, both dark haired and handsome. Steve will watch the way Peggy presses her body closer as Howard gently strokes his hand down her side, thumb just grazing her breast, and he'll feel for a moment like he should be taking notes.

Peggy will pull back and break the kiss, but only long enough to unbutton Howard's suit jacket and push it back over his shoulders. Howard will kiss her again and start untucking her blouse from her skirt so that he can get his hands under it.

Steve will realize what's about to happen right in front of him. Part of him will feel like he's about to die of embarrassment. He should close his eyes, look away, step out and put a stop to this. Just because Peggy will know that he's there doesn't mean that it would be okay for him to watch.

But a bigger part if him will be too busy being the most aroused he's ever been in his life to listen to any moral objections. He won't be able to stop looking at them, and he won't be able to stop his body from reacting.

Howard and Peggy will shuffle toward the sofa, kissing and tugging at each others' clothing along the way. Apparently deciding that he can't wait any more, Howard will push her down onto the sofa, following along so that he's lying on top of her. They'll only have gotten as far as taking Howard's shirt off and pushing his pants down past his hips. Peggy's skirt will be rucked up so that Steve will have a heart-stopping view of the tops of her stockings as she winds her legs around Howard's hips. At some point her blouse will come unbuttoned and her bra unhooked. Her breasts, weighty and soft, will be exposed. From his angle, Steve will be able to see her dark nipples jutting upward. Howard will have an even better view, obviously, and the next moment his lips will be on them, caressing her breasts with his mouth and nipping with his teeth.

Apparently deciding he can't wait any longer, Howard's hand will disappear between their two bodies for a moment, and then he'll be inside her. The noise that will come out of Peggy's mouth will almost make Steve lose control of himself there and then. Peggy's hands will scramble above her head, coming to rest against the arm of the sofa. She'll have to push back against the force of Howard's movements, so that she won't get inched upward with each roll of his hips.

It won't be long at that pace before they're both close. Steve will watch, hand gripping one of the hooks in the closet, barely holding onto his control. After only a few minutes, Peggy will shudder and jerk--causing her breasts to shake and quiver with Howard's mouth still on them, Steve will notice--then fall back against the cushions. Howard will finish a few seconds later, making soft sounds that might be words. Steve will be too far away to hear what he says, but it will make Peggy laugh a little, breathlessly.

She'll look so good, lying there all a mess. Howard will stroke her hair back from her face and press a kiss to her lips before getting up and straightening his clothes.

After one or two cheerful endearments, Howard will be out the door. Steve will steel himself. Reluctantly emerging, he'll find Peggy standing with her back to him, fixing herself a drink. She'll turn around, drink in hand, and look at him coolly.

“Well, Captain,” she'll make his title sound vaguely embarrassing. “I'd ask if you enjoyed the show, but I can see that you did.” She'll raise her eyebrow and nod at his obvious state of arousal. Her voice will be low and intimate, even as it's laced with slight disdain, and she'll sound pleased, with a satisfied set to her mouth.

He'll be standing close enough to see the sheen on her skin. She won't have even bothered to button up her blouse; it will just be loosely closed, with the ends tucked in. She'll look, well, as though she's just made love very energetically. She'll look him up and down speculatively. Steve couldn't possibly hide what he's feeling, so he won't even try. For a moment he'll hope, uneasily, that she's going to touch him.

Instead, she'll just take a drink from her glass and say, “well, perhaps I'll have you back for a repeat performance.”

She'll lean up and press one sweet, shocking kiss to his lips, then usher him out the door. Steve will find himself alone on the landing, embarrassed and aching. He won't be able to do anything but lean back against the wall, cover his eyes, and groan.

  


FOUR

Steve is lying in bed in his childhood room. It's unmistakable, the white paint chipping off his metal bed frame, which always used to sag to the left, and the little window with the sun just hitting the brick wall across the airshaft. He hasn't lived in this place in years and years. (Some part of his mind notices absently that he must be dreaming.) With the sun where it is, it must be morning, and summertime.

He looks to his right, and there's Annie, standing in the narrow space between his bed and the door, wearing her chorus girl costume.

“I brought you an apple,” she tells him by way of greeting. She shows him the apple, bright red and shiny. Then she raises it to her lips and takes a bite. He watches her lips push against the smooth skin of the fruit. He can't do anything but stare. She puts the bitten apple down on the dresser and approaches the bed.

He knows, in the logic of dreams, exactly what's hidden away under Annie's pleated red and white skirt. The real life memory flits to the surface of the dream for a moment. Annie had always been one to brag to the other girls about all the dirty stuff she got up to, and sometimes Steve hadn't been able to help overhearing. He remembered the time she'd gotten on the topic of explaining the fake rubber dick she owned. “It's called a _dildo_ ,” she'd bragged. “And you can tie it on and use it just like a real one.”

One of the girls had asked “whaddya got that for? You're no queer girl.”

“Pssh,” the brash Annie had responded. “I don't use it on _girls_.” The other girls had been intrigued and pleasantly scandalized. Annie had told them in great detail about the fella she had who liked her to do him with her dildo. By the time the topic had shifted, Steve had been blushing absolutely scarlet. The mental images he'd had of Annie doing that to her guy had come up every time he'd ever talked to her after that.

The flicker of actual memory dissolves, and he's faced again with the dream version of Annie approaching him, and his knowledge that she's wearing the dildo under her skirts. But when she's standing by the bed, it's not Annie in her show costume anymore, it's Peggy. Peggy's wearing her uniform, precise and neat as ever, lips bright red and hair pinned up in neat dark waves.

He knows exactly what Peggy expects him to do, like they've done this a thousand times before. He takes off one item of her clothing, then another, methodically, folding each and laying it on the chair at the end of the bed before moving on to the next. It has all the weight of ritual. He removes her jacket, her blouse, her camisole, then her bra. When he turns back to face her after carefully placing her bra atop the pile, he is allowed to take a moment to admire her. Her soft generous breasts hang in front of him, tempting. But it's not yet time to touch.

Now he reaches behind her and carefully takes out the pins holding her hair in place, arranging them in a row on the windowsill. Then he takes her shoes and stockings, reaching under her skirt to find their tops.

It's finally time to remove her skirt, and he sneaks a caress as he does so. She raises her eyebrow at this, but doesn't reprove him. Her skirt joins the pile of clothes. She's now wearing nothing but a pair of silky blue underwear.

It's there. Unmistakably, the bulging outline of the rubber dick distends the pale blue silk. He reaches out, tracing over her dildo. She makes a pleased sound and bends over to whisper in his ear, “that's going inside you.”

He has to close his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again, his own clothes are gone, so he lies back, naked, on the bed. She climbs on top of him and he lightly takes hold of her hips as she kneels above him. His thumbs hook her pretty blue underpants and pull them down, far enough that the dildo springs out. The base is nestled against the dark hair between her legs, and it's oddly beautiful. It's hard to imagine anything about her that wouldn't be beautiful, though. He touches it, tentatively at first, then giving several firm strokes that she seems to like.

The next part feels preordained, just like the clothes, a performance. She pulls back from him and takes the underwear completely off. While she does, he reaches under the mattress and finds the little jar of Vaseline. It's just where the real one was in his real childhood bedroom, where he'd hidden it at age eleven and found use for it from time to time. She takes it from him and applies some to herself, stroking her own rubber cock. He just watches, wanting to touch himself just like she's doing, but knowing it's not time yet.

She meets his eyes as she slides down over him, urging him with her hand to lift his hips up. He does.

When she pushes inside, breaching him, she lets out a loud moan as though it's the best thing she's ever felt. It should hurt, he knows, but it doesn't. It just feels raw, and good, and overwhelming.

He wants to dissolve into her. Maybe he could.

She pulls back and thrusts in and it jolts him enough that he jerks under her. She does it again, then again and all he can do is lie back and let himself be taken.

All at once, Steve wakes up. He's alone in his room, sweating in his narrow bed, shuddering and aroused. He groans and, against his better judgment, reaches to take care of the problem. The sensations from the dream still feel like they're pressing against him and inside him. It doesn't take long to finish.

Cleaning up afterwards, he decides he can never tell anyone about this, ever.

  


FIVE

Steve first comes up with it on the march leading the liberated prisoners back to the army camp. There's not much else to do on that long walk. He saves it up and comes back to it many times, later.

The thought of Peggy being captured in real life, the way Bucky and all the others had been, is terrifying. But when he's telling the story, he gets to choose the ending. And he's a big believer in happy endings.

She's captured on a mission one afternoon. By sunset Steve has tracked the group that has her to a cabin in the woods. By ten minutes after sunset, every enemy soldier in the cabin is unconscious or dead at their hands.

Peggy's limping as they walk away from the little shack, leaving the bodies behind them for someone else to worry about. He supports her under one arm, and she lets him.

“Sprained my ankle when the bastards captured me,” she explains through gritted teeth. It's already too dark to see more than a few yards in the forest and it's obvious they won't be able to make their way back to camp until the sun comes up.

They find a little hollow in the woods and huddle down under the pine trees, where they'll be tough to spot, even if anyone comes after them. Peggy's shivering, of course, since her captors took away her coat. She's cold and hurt and her makeup's a mess and now her hair has pine needles in it. It doesn't do any good; he still thinks she's impossibly beautiful.

Steve takes his jacket off, then helps her into it.

“Let me look at that sprain.”

“You're not a doctor, Steven,” she informs him crisply.

“No, but we've got a seven mile walk in the morning until we get to a doctor, and it'll go easier if you let me wrap your ankle.” Peggy grimaces and nods permission.

Luckily, he's in his uniform, and one of the pouches on his belt has a roll of bandaging in it. He tries to be gentle as he lifts up her ankle and starts wrapping it, but he can tell that it hurts her. She bites her lip and doesn't let out a sound. Working as quickly as he can, he finishes and ties off the bandage.

Even though it's because she's injured, he can't help but enjoy being able to touch her. He lowers his head and gently kisses her on the top of the foot, over the bandage. Then he's scared he's gone too far, crossed a line she's never invited him over. He looks her in the eye the next moment. She looks tired, but--interested.

Her ankle is resting on his knee. He gently strokes his hand over the bandage, being careful not to put any pressure on it.

“Okay?” he asks, and they both know he's not asking about the injury. She keeps looking at him steadily and nods.

Cautiously, waiting any moment for her to stop him, he runs his fingers up over her calf, gently exploring everything from the knobs of her ankle up to the tender hollow behind her knee. Her skirt had fallen back to just above her knee while he'd been bandaging. Now he runs just the tips of his fingers under the hem. She shivers. He freezes, meeting her eyes. Even in the near-dark, he can read her expression. Her eyes are soft, and her lips slightly parted. He knows, as plainly as if she'd told him, that she wants him to keep going.

He manages to keep his hands steady as he realizes what he's just been given permission to do. He reaches higher, along the inner side of her thigh. He takes his time getting there. Finally, his fingers find the seam of her underwear. He touches the fabric covering her where she's most sensitive, and runs his fingers over the flesh he can feel beneath.

She gasps and he draws back. “What--don't _stop,_ ” she orders, flustered.

“I'm not,” he tells her. He pulls back only long enough to lie down and get into a better position. He's fully aroused by now, and for a second the need to have her touch him, to be inside her, is nearly overwhelming. But he holds it back. This is for her.

He starts again at her calf, with his lips, this time. Taking his time, his mouth moves up her leg. By the time his head is between her thighs, she's breathing unsteadily and, though obviously trying to keep quiet, soft moans are escaping. He can barely hear them over the pounding of his own heartbeat. He's always wanted to try this, ever since he was fourteen and first found out it was possible for a guy to put his mouth _there_ on a girl.

He pauses an inch from his goal to take in the sounds and scent. She smells exciting.

He puts his mouth on her, over the fabric, and he can feel her whole body give a sudden start. Her underwear comes off and he lays it down on the ground next to them, then finds his way back between her legs by touch.

The darkness that surrounds them makes it better somehow. There's nothing to distract him, his whole concentration is on her flesh, her taste, the soft sounds she's making. He's never done this before, so he goes about it experimentally, trying to figure out what she likes best. When he uses his tongue and his lips, and his fingers just _so_ , she cries out and he has to stop what he's doing for a moment to shush her. They have to be quiet--there's no way of knowing where the patrols are.

“Sorry,” she says, strained. “Keep going.”

So he does. When he does that thing again, she doesn't call out this time, but she does let out a gasp that sounds like it's muffled by her hand in her own mouth. When he does it a third time and then keeps doing it, she grabs hold of his hair and grips his head between her thighs, holding him to her tightly by every method available.

He doesn't mind, at all.

It's over all too soon after that. She shudders hard and thrusts up into his face for a long moment, then lets go and says, “stop now, that's enough,” in a voice he's never herd her use before.

He helps her back into her underwear, being extra careful of her injured ankle. Lying down next to her in their dark little hollow, he wishes he could see her expression.

“Going to return the favor,” she says, indistinctly. Her normally precise accent has blunted a little under the weight of exhaustion.

“Later,” he tells her, smoothing her skirt back into place. He gathers her up and holds her, watching in the near-total darkness until she falls asleep.

The next day when her ankle is throbbing, she actually agrees to let him carry her part of the way--as long as he promises not to say anything about it afterward.

  


PLUS ONE

Her heart leaps into her throat for a split second as she realizes Steve's about to get burnt to a crisp in front of her. A split second is all it takes to bring her machine gun around and put six or seven rounds into the solider wielding the flame thrower.

“You're late,” he tells her, deadpan. Even in the middle of chaos and death, he's making jokes, echoing her words back to her. He's perfectly calm, as if they meet over mangled dead bodies every day, and he's looking at her like she's a minor miracle.

She's not expecting the wave of pure desire to break over her. How she wants this man. This man who walks through fire--literally, in this case--and blood, and still comes out of it with a wry smile and a gentle look in his eyes. She wants to take him right here on the floor of the enemy base, damn the battle and everything else. Would he let her? Could he say no if she snagged him in a kiss and bore him down to the floor, peeling off his armor to get her hands on him?

He's looking at her like his thoughts aren't too far off from hers. But, oh, _hang it all_. Now's not the time.

“Weren't you about to...” she reminds him, not caring that her voice sounds flustered.

“Right.” Steve visibly pulls his mind back from wherever it was and runs off. He'll need backup, so she goes to find the Colonel. Save the fantasies, she tells herself, it's time to go win the war. They'll have plenty of time for all that later.

  


PLUS TWO

Steve hasn't felt right since he got here. It's almost as bad as right after Project Rebirth--his whole physical self feels like it doesn't belong to him. He's like Frankenstein's monster, made up of strange parts. He can't get used to the feel of the every day objects around him--everything slightly wrong. Even the showers and the toilets are different. He swears the water tastes wrong. He's a stranger from another world, and he's never quite sure what to do with himself.

After pushing himself even harder than usual one day about a two weeks into his stint at SHIELD headquarters, Steve climbs wearily into the shower in the abandoned basement gym where no one ever seems to come except him. He stands under the spray and tries not to wish he were back home. He tries not to think about how much it would mean to see his friends again, even for a moment, even just to say goodbye. He tries not to wish he could see Peggy.

If Peggy were here, she'd comfort him, he tells himself. Then he catches himself up short.

No, she wouldn't. If Peggy could see him floundering like this, she'd cross her arms and tell him to get himself together. He can picture it perfectly. He feels a sudden sharp pang beneath his breastbone, aching to have her walk through the door and tell him what a fool he's being. Of course, if she were there just at that particular moment, she'd be telling him that in the men's shower.

He feels his body respond at the thought. It's the first normal feeling he's had in what seems like a long time.

She would be naked, of course. Steve feels the prickling of discomfort he always feels at picturing her naked, like she'll find out somehow. Not that it's ever stopped him.

He imagines her stepping under the shower spray so that the water wets her hair and runs down her shoulders, over her breasts. He would take her in his arms and just hold her for a long time, not even kissing her, just pressing their bodies together, breathing in her scent. After a while, he would kiss her. She'd kiss him back, sliding her tongue slightly into his mouth. The kiss would slowly grow deeper.

Then maybe she'd slide down his body to her knees in the shower and put her mouth on him. Steve pictures it. He's touching himself now, his awkwardness at imaging this fading away under the wave of arousal. He'd let her do that for a few minutes, watching those gorgeous lips of hers move on him. He'd smooth her wet hair back from her forehead. But soon he'd want to touch more of her. So he'd pull her up, kissing her again and running his hands along her body. She would do the same, digging her hands into his arms, his back, then his hips.

Steve groans aloud. He's leaning forward against the wall of the shower, resting his weight on his forearm, using his other hand on himself. For a second he worries that someone might walk in on him, and boy would that be embarrassing. But it's too late to stop now.

He picks up the fantasy where he left off. He'd want to have her right here in the shower, and Peggy would want it, too. It wouldn't be hard to pick her up and press her back against the tile wall. She was so much smaller than he was, now. She would wrap her legs around him and whisper encouragement--or maybe a command--into his ear.

He would push upward and into her, pressing her hips against the wall, and she would cry out. Holding her up with his hands gripping her backside, he would set a fast rhythm. She would be holding onto him with all four limbs, egging him on.

She'd be so distracted by the sensations that when she gasped and arched her neck, she'd crack her head against the tile wall. He'd wince, and freeze for a moment, afraid she'd hurt herself. But she would just gasp out, “I'm fine; don't stop.” He'd laugh a little and keep going. “I'd suffer worse than that to have you,” she'd say to him, whispering in his ear.

When she climaxed, she would loose control completely, shuddering in his arms, muscles spasming around him. She would call out some garbled profanity in a shaky voice.

The idea of seeing her like that, the picture it would make, pushes Steve over the edge. He sags against the wall, resting his forehead against the cool ceramic as he shudders out the last of it. It takes a long moment for his thoughts to come back into order before he remembers where he is.

The shower quickly washes away the evidence of his activity. The familiar act has made some of the tightness in his chest ease. There's always a faint hint of guilt in doing this, thanks to the stern voice of a priest from when he was a teenager, but that's familiar, too.

He's still alone in this strange place. But he feels just a little bit more like himself.


End file.
